


Tales For Anna

by Wizard95



Series: A Scot In Training [2]
Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Can be read as a stand-alone but i'd suggest you read the first part for most enjoyment, I made up a cousin that's right, M/M, Royal Air Force, Teacher-Student Relationship, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 07:33:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17463281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wizard95/pseuds/Wizard95
Summary: He should write to Anna, he should tell her of his unfortunate experiences in the RAF, most of which he'd suffered at the hands of immature British young men. Oh, she'd have a blast when he told her about Commander Farrier, how they'd come to meet and the tortuous encounters that had followed, how Farrier (Commander, Wing Commander Farrier) would pierce through his very soul with those hazel eyes, and the numerous times Collins had found himself staring at him in the middle of a lesson...





	Tales For Anna

**Author's Note:**

  * For [1vyv1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1vyv1/gifts).



Collins doesn't consider himself an unlucky person, not by his standards. Annabell, his thirty-year-old cousin now, would have a very different view on the matter. It hadn't extended to him, all these years. But now it might be the time to start wondering about it all. Quite frankly, he feels like the universe is out to get him lately.

  
  
Yes, judging by the actions of his fellow trainees toward him and the consequences that therefore fell upon himself, Anna would say his life is most unfortunate indeed. Sometimes, when he can't get himself to drift off at night, he thinks back on distant teenage conversations. She'd always been quite superstitious, but then again Collins knows that so was every other woman in the family.

  
  
She would never sleep with her head pointing to any windows, Anna, and would physically shrink down at the sight of a black cat. She avoided walking near staircases altogether ( _I shall never marry!),_ Collins can only recall a small portion of the nonsense that had been passed down from generation to generation, but even so, silly as those beliefs were, they were pleasant memories he could allow himself to recall when he felt homesick and sentimentality got the best of him.

  
  
And, in several occasions, truth be told, he did feel rather unfortunate himself. This feeling had been planted like a seed inside his mind from the very first moment a long-dead garden spider had landed on his plate during his second dinner at the RAF training premises; and with each silly prank it started becoming frustratingly bigger until it blossomed completely on that day he met Farrier, naked and wet in the corridors near the stairs. Only more awkward interactions followed, so many that Collins was now recalling many of those preposterous tales his cousin used to tell him, the ones he deemed untrue and, well, total horseshit.  
 

  
To be at this level of bad luck, however, Collins is sure he must have inadvertently walked across many many black cats in his short twenty-two years of life. He must have rolled on his bed at night and faced the windows, he must have walked under a number of staircases as well, for he is certain he will never ever marry, not truly, not for love. Yes, in the nights when sleep doesn't come, Collins remembers Anna's tales and words by heart, and with every day that goes by, is more and more convinced that Scottish people are very, very unlucky indeed.

  
  
Or, perhaps just twenty-two-year-old RAF pilots in training who hail from the Highlands. Perhaps it's just a misfortune reserved for him.

  
  
He should write to Anna, he should tell her of his unfortunate experiences in the RAF, most of which he'd suffered at the hands of immature British young men. Oh, she'd have a blast when he told her about Commander Farrier, how they'd come to meet and the tortuous encounters that had followed, how Farrier ( _Commander, Wing Commander Farrier)_ would pierce through his very soul with those hazel eyes, and the numerous times Collins had found himself staring at him in the middle of a lesson, only to be abruptly snapped back to the present by a boot kicking him from behind and realise that an answer was expected of him at the very moment. Realise he'd been too caught up in ridiculous daydreams to keep track of the lesson, and realise too that this behaviour wasn't at all approved by Farrier, who would frown at him in annoyance.

  
  
"If you find yourself unable to focus, Mr Collins, might I suggest a breath of fresh air?" He'd asked him the first time. Collins had sheepishly turned down the offer.  
  
  
  
It'd been an offer, that one.  
 

  
The second time, it'd been an order.

  
  
But that time it'd been Lenny's fault.

  
  
'Two pints says he fucks it up' read the note, and Collins had rolled his eyes at it and shaken his head, because he'd chatted with Marley enough to know his father was an actual mathematician, and if there was anyone in the room who knew how to solve that monstrous equation, it was him. Collins never voiced any of these thoughts, however, but he did look up and find Farrier staring daggers in their direction.  
 

  
"Go for a stroll around the facilities, gentlemen, and see if perhaps you happen to stumble upon a bit of maturity in the process."  
 

  
Farrier was an excellent teacher, eloquent as no-one Collins had ever met, always a book to be seen in his close proximity. Even when he was kicking them out of a lesson he sounded illustrious. Collins had a bit of a crush on the man.  'A bit' being an understatement, of course.  
  
  
  
"But it's rain-" Lenny had begun to protest, to everyone's dismay. There was a collective un-gasped gasp at his words, from the whole class, and Collins didn't need to look back to the front to know that the Wing Commander was sporting such a murderous expression that it'd put a halt to Lenny's helpless protestations and possibly even his breathing.  
 

  
Yes, it was a cold and rainy autumn morning; but Farrier's stare was colder and much, much deadlier. So they both marched out of the room gloomily and silently, and they ran as quick as they could the length of the university under the pouring of rain. Collins had been out-run and left behind, of course. Lenny was an athlete. And had no sense of camaraderie, that much he'd left clear.

  
  
If he'd known, that day, that he was going to stumble naked upon one of his future teachers, Collins would've made a run for it. He would've run the length of that corridor back to the shower rooms and he would have avoided such an embarrassing first encounter. For he was sure that on some unconscious level, that scene still played in his head and consequently made him act foolishly whenever Farrier was around.  
  
  
  
Jack was sure that in Farrier's eyes, he mustn't seem very bright. Well, he had never enjoyed numbers, that much was true, but though the Commander was a remarkable mentor, Collins could not overcome his bloody inconvenient infatuation for him, thus making it even more difficult to pay attention when he was talking.  
 

  
That day, the day of Lenny's stupid bet-note, Collins returned to the classroom to face Farrier dripping water yet again. It felt a bit like a _deja vú_ , except he was wearing clothes this time, of course, and the Commander didn't seem the least amused. He didn't mock him with his silent stare and smirk, he didn't put down his book and cross his arms and questioned him. This time, he gave Collins permission to enter with a single blunt word, and Jack side-glanced at him as he put his pen and notes back in his bag, careful not to ruin the paper. Farrier didn't look up, not once, he kept his eyes on his nameless book and made no sound as Collins came back to the front of the room, sniffing and leaving a trail of water behind him. It only made him feel more self-conscious.

  
  
Lenny's things were gone, and he was probably already having a steamy hot shower or perhaps even some warm stew. The thought made Collins more aware of his low body temperature and he tightly held his bag close to him to stop himself from shivering.

  
  
Commander Farrier was exceedingly good at projecting his anger, and Collins could feel it looming over him when he walked closest to the desk on his way back out, almost like an invisible creature. And Farrier was still not looking at him then, but Jack felt a raw kind of energy almost vibrating his way, like unspoken words, and before he knew it, his lips had parted and his mouth was opening and forming words. He was _talking!  
 _

  
"Beg yer pardon, sir" he halted in front of the desk and turned so that he was facing his superior. It wouldn't do to look away and not stand straight.

  
  
Farrier made no move, didn't even mutter a word, his eyes didn't even flicker up to acknowledge his presence, and Collins found himself immediately regretting this improvised decision, this attempt-at-an-apology. Clearly, Farrier didn't care for it. And with good reason, this not being the first time that Jack had been called to attention.

  
  
He couldn't walk away now, having spoken the words, so he cleared his throat and decided to be brave and concise in favour of retaining some of his pride.

  
  
"Wanted to give my apologies, sir, I nevr meant to disrupt yer lessn' and I know it was disrespectful and it shan't happen again, sir."

  
  
"You're dripping on my floor, Mr Collins" Farrier stated plainly, still not looking up from his leather-bound book.

  
  
Collins sniffed and glanced at the pool of water he was standing in.

  
  
"Ah, yessir, I'll clean it myself sir, I'll fetch a dry-"

  
  
" _No_."

  
   
He slammed the book closed, all of a sudden, and directed his serious eyes at Jack, who had stopped himself mid-sentence.  
 

  
"You will go and change those clothes before you catch a cold, and you will refrain from passing any more childish notes during my lessons or you shall go home before the week ends, am I being clear?"

  
  
"Yes sir"

  
  
"Do you need it spelt out? I have some chalk right here, I should make you write it down a couple of hundred of times, that ought to drill a bit of discipline into you."

  
  
Collins hesitates for a slip of a second, starting to lose a bit of movement on his fingers.

  
  
"If it'll please you, sir." He nods, in agreement, not daring to look Farrier in the eye and looking forward to the chalkboard behind him instead. He'll do whatever is ordered, of course. He's in no position to form any kind of protest. Even if he were in the right and Farrier in the wrong, there would be no room for any contradiction. You don't speak up to a superior or go against his word unless you want to be kicked out. And Collins doesn't want to be kicked out; so if Farrier wishes him to write down 'I shall not disrupt lessons' on the chalkboard two hundred times, or three, or four, he will do it.

  
  
And he is half-thinking that the Commander is about to indeed ask him to do so because he's suddenly fallen silent.

  
  
Collins glances at him and finds him staring, so he immediately looks back up.

  
  
A few more seconds pass, silence unperturbed, Jack fighting the shivers down.

  
  
"Out of my classroom, Collins." Farrier says, picking up the book again and resuming his previous posture on the chair, his voice sounding peculiarly hoarse.

  
  
Collins leaves, but not without failing to suppress a sneeze before he closes the door behind him. And now that Farrier can't pin him down with his authoritarian glare, he makes a run for the showers, the numbness in his hands starting to expand towards his arms.

  
  
That night, during dinner, Collins learns that even if Farrier was merciful towards him, the same courtesy hadn't been extended to Lenny, who had been ordered to do a number of thirty push-ups before he could retrieve his belongings from the classroom.

  
  
Collins could try to name what he felt the moment those words made their way to his ears (surprise, confusion, gratitude, shame) but what he couldn't do was find it in himself to easily swallow the spoon of mashed potatoes he'd just put inside his mouth, and when more than one question came his way just moments after ( _How many did he make you do? You're a bit scrawny, how did you manage? Could you do them all?_ ) he found himself muttering a number.

  
  
Again, without previous notice to the rational part of his brain, impulse won, and he lied. His mouth opened and words were blurted out.

  
  
Thirty as well.

  
  
Thirty push-ups, he told them.

  
  
"I was wet, and I slipped" he mumbled, thinking to add a bit of truth to an imaginary situation. They were all well-acquainted with his clumsiness. Laughter followed.

  
  
"I say he's a tight-up arsehole," Lenny spoke, low. "What a controlling wanker, it was just a fucking note! Aren't we allowed a bit of joy in this hell hole?"

  
  
"Well, it _is_ a military training base" Someone provided, with a hint of amusement.

  
  
"Controlling is what they do" Another one chimed in, and it seemed that Lenny was alone on his distaste for the Wing Commander.

  
  
"Oh, fuck off, you girls."

  
  
He wouldn't get any shared sentiment from him, Collins thought, not even a bit. He held no remorse toward his instructor.

  
  
Farrier had let him off the hook, and this thought would haunt Collins for days to come. He made up his mind to write down his anxious feelings not long after, late at night when his bunkmate was sound asleep and another unexpected storm was raging outside their window. He had no siblings and no-one in the whole university would care to hear about it. Anna, however, would relish at the sight of a new folded parchment paper on her letterbox the following week.

**Author's Note:**

> So! Something happened last night: I started typing and suddenly it was 5 fucking am and I had written over two-thousand words, what in the hell...? Anyhow, so I made the most of that sudden wave of inspiration and this is the product! It's a sequel to 'As Unlucky As It Gets', and I've decided to make this a series. So there'll probably be more of trainee Collins and Wing Commander Farrier to come (: (If you enjoyed it, that is... So let me know!)
> 
> Note: I did no research and just went with those three superstitions which are quite popular in my country, I should be a competent writer and brush up on some of Scotland's culture but oh well. Also if anyone wants to help me depict that accent, you are most welcomed! Help me please I suck at that.
> 
> This work is kindly dedicated to @1vyv1 (hope you don't mind!) who has left such nice comments on both my Farrier/Collins fics, you're a lovely person and I appreciate you!


End file.
